With Bloodstained Hands
by careerinfatuation
Summary: Clato/Clarvel one shot: Clove has a heart, Cato's crazy jealous, and an alternative death for Marvel. Better inside, I swear..descriptions aren't my thing. Rated T for blood, feelings, and a brief moment of hip-grinding. ;D I love reviews!


"Clove?"

I'm turned around, preoccupied with sharpening my knives, when I hear the voice behind me. I had just looked over my shoulder when he launched himself against me, tackling me to the ground.

"HEY!" A sharp rock goes into my back, sending a shiver up every knob of my spine. I struggle uselessly to unseat Cato…until I realize it isn't Cato.

"Marvel?"

There's a strange look in Marvel's eyes, a mixture of loneliness, hunger, and lust. His hands, just as big as Cato's, pin my wrists to the earth, his strong, muscled legs folded at the knee on top of me. I had felt Cato's weight on me before (long story), and found that Marvel was about as heavy. That meant one thing for me—I had no chance to hold my own. I had to face whatever was coming.

"Hey," he says, attempting a casual tone. His face turns up in a smirk. "Whatcha doin?" I thrash my shoulders around to no avail. "I could ask _you_ the same thing." He keeps shifting his body, making it harder to resist. Was he going to kill me?

He laughs, far too lightly for this situation. "Eh, not much. Just gotta get something off my chest. Finally can now that Glimmer's gone." I exhale in relief. So I get to keep my life for now…but what are his other intentions? I try to avoid his gaze as he speaks, but he won't continue until I look up. Finally, I relent: curiosity killed the cat, after all. "I like you, Clove." The words sound unnatural coming from him. They're wrong in my ears, like he's talking in a different language. _That's wrong. You're wrong. This is wrong._ I try to lift my legs, try to reach for the knife in my pocket, but it's no use. I'm not one to give up, though. "Didn't seem like it this morning." As long as we're talking, he isn't attempting something else. This gives me hope.

Marvel laughs again, this one real and genuine, the kind you hear around Christmas. Full of life. I wonder what the people in the Capitol are making of all this. "You bought into that? Man, you're funny!"

I think back to Cato's and my conversation from earlier, searching for a distraction.

_I'm awakened to the sound of loud sniffling. Confused, I sit up, taking inventory of the camp. Cato's out like a rock, but Marvel, the source of the sound, is wide awake. He sits with his back to me, probably trying to hide his face: careers don't cry. I watch as he throws his head into his lap, listen as his breathing becomes labored. He's been crying for a long time. I can tell. In his hand he holds his district token, a locket with a photo of him and Glimmer on the inside. I want to offer some kind of comfort, but find myself at a loss for words. I poke Cato instead. _

_His eyes flick open, irritated. "What?" I move mine in Marvel's direction, my voice quivering. "He seems sad."_

_Cato scoffed, tossing a berry into his mouth. "Only now that his little cuddle buddy is gone."_

_Cuddle buddy? I raised an eyebrow. I didn't like what that implied. "What do you mean?" Cato's voice took on a scarily protective tone as he rolled closer to me, dropping his voice an octave to avoid the ears of the crying boy a few feet away._

"_Marvel's not a nice guy. He only wants one thing, Clove, and he sure as hell won't be getting it from you. If he as much as lays a finger on you…" Cato's face deepens to an unnatural red, his hands balling into fists of rage. The thought infuriated him so much I wasn't sure he'd continue, but he spat out the last words somehow, lacing them with venom._

"_Let's just say he'd be dead before he hit the ground."_

Too bad he isn't around to help me now, when it really counts. He wouldn't really kill him though…would he?

I shake off the thought: I've learned not to underestimate Cato until you challenge him.

Marvel daringly removes one of his hands, running his thumb along my fragile jawline. When it gives me butterflies, I feel sick. He drops his face dangerously close to mine, so close I can smell the aroma of dried fruit on his breath. "I like you a lot."

He darts down, aiming for my mouth, but I see it coming. I hunch my shoulders up to my ears, barely dodging his lips. "Cato," I get out, squirming rigidly under his weight. "Cato will kill you." A look of amusement passes over Marvel's face. "Will he now?" He looks around, jokingly considering the prospect. "I'm sure of it, considering, you know, he's so close." _What a prick_.

"Besides," he purrs. "He doesn't have to know, does he?" I smash my lips together. This makes him mad.

"Don't be such a prude. Just one kiss!" _A kiss?_ You don't pin someone down for a kiss. I'm far from convinced—I know what's on his mind, and he can tell. He gives me a wink, confirming what I already knew. "Well, maybe a _little_ more than that…" Suggestively, he grinds his hips against mine, grinning at my terrified expression. I hate myself for wandering this far away from Cato. I refuse to move, to breathe, to take note of his pleasure. I hate myself. There isn't enough air in my lungs to scream his name—Marvel's knee is seated on my chest, effectively cutting off the majority of my voice.

He reaches for my hands, pulling them up above my head before pinning them there. Here, I am totally, completely vulnerable. And he knows it. "What do you say?" He says, planting a row of kisses along my collarbone with his chapped lips.

"I say you're dead."

We both jump. Cato drives his sword into Marvel's arm, knocking him off me. I scramble to a sitting position, rubbing my wrists where he left finger-shaped bruises. Marvel jumps up on shaky legs, blood pooling on his sleeve where the hilt pierced. "Cato! I—" He swings his sword again, this time scraping against Marvel's thigh. He cries out, falling to one knee, scooting backwards like a crab. "Cato, please…" Cato drops his weapon, choosing instead to shove him over with his own brute force. When Marvel falls, I know he won't get up.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Cato bellows, throwing a punch into Marvel's throat. The choking sound he makes is unbearable, like nails on a chalkboard. "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?" "Nothing," he gets out, his voice raw and bloody. "Nothing, please, Cato…" Even though they're roughly the same size, Cato picks Marvel up like a rag doll, smashing him in place against a tree. I can't watch, because I know Cato intends to savor the moment.

The people of the Capitol are getting quite a show today.

Marvel tries to take in a breath, but Cato frees one of his hands and slams it over his throat, curling it cruelly around his neck. Marvel's face instantly turns purple. Cato just chuckles, somewhat sadistically.

"Why is it you have to have everything that's mine?"

Marvel throws his hands against the tree, trying to beat his way free. It was a rhetorical question, of course, clearly meant for the show: Cato could care less what his response is. He clears his throat and continues.

"The first day at training, you had to have MY weapon. Okay, yeah, that I understand. More than one person is good with a sword. But taking the only one available at the cornucopia?" Marvel raises his fingers, scratching at Cato's forearm. It has absolutely no effect. "I'm better than you. Stronger than you. That crossed a line."

Cato repeatedly slams Marvel against the trunk, just for the fun of it. He gags, his eyes bulging as his face takes on a dark, bruised color. I cringe: I'm not sure how much more he can take.

"You hated your district partner before I told you she was cute. Who was all over her the next night?"

Cato drops both of his hands, watching as Marvel falls in a crumpled heap onto the forest floor. He doesn't give him time to breathe before he's on him again, kicking at his ribcage, his neck, his head.

I'm not sure, but I think Cato's punctured something. Marvel, who I've hardly seen smile, is crying.

"Cato," I start, my voice breaking. Marvel closes his eyes, curling in on himself like a scared child. That's when it hits me: he really _is_ a scared child. We're all just children, sent here to do the Capitol's bidding, sent to die for something we don't believe in. Children afraid of death, children fighting to be the one who goes home. We've never been anything more than toys, tossed and thrown around until only one still stands, with no thought to our stories, to our futures or pasts. We're just children… I'm up on my feet in an instant, wiping at my nose. "Cato, please…"

I'm reaching for his hand when he stops me. "Don't you DARE move," he snarls, his nostrils flaring. "Just stay out of this Clove. I mean it." The dying boy at my feet, the unnecessary protectiveness-it all sinks in, sending me over the edge. Without thinking, I slide a knife out from my jacket, cutting a deep gash into Cato's hand. His rusty red blood pours over his fingers, loosening his grip on his sword. "Shit, Clove! What was that?" While he's distracted, I muster all my strength and grip his shoulders, pushing him over with every fiber of my being. He falls like a tower, hitting the earth with a grunt. He looks up at me from a bed of pine needles, the expression on his face half admiration, half horror. "You don't own me" is all I say before kneeling down besides Marvel.

"Hey," I say quietly, bending my head by his ear. My hair falls in a curtain, shielding us from Cato's view.  
"Hey, Marvel. Hey, it's Clove. Can you hear me?"

After a minute one of his eyes flickers open, and I can only imagine how much effort it took. There's a brief recognition there—it's clear processing a full thought it almost impossible. I can feel my heart dropping into my stomach: I've never been this close to death. I'd thought of all my other kills as animals, but Marvel? Marvel was my friend. Marvel had feelings, a life back home. Marvel was real, human, about to become what so many children before him had become. Just another statistic. My fingers reach out, taking his hands in mine. They're cold.

"Marvel, it's gonna be okay. Do you know why?"

I detect the slightest shake of his head.

"Because you're going home." There's a hot prick in my eyes, and before I know it, I'm crying.

What is his family thinking? His friends? Do they know how much time he has left? Did he have a girlfriend? Those weren't the kind of things I bothered to learn during training, considering all but one of us is dead in the end. It's hard to seem interested when all you're really wondering is how they'll meet their fate. Marvel's met his right now, at the hands of a jealous boy. I grit my teeth. The whole thing was unfair.

Marvel, however, smiles.  
"Home."  
He opens his mouth again, trying to say something more, but he coughs instead. A trail of blood, red as rubies, runs down his cheek.

I feel the weight of guilt settling in on my shoulders. Marvel would still be here if it weren't for Cato…_Cato_. I turn and glare at him now, several feet behind me. He looks stunned, but at what? Then I realize: he's stunned at me. He's stunned at the way I, a self-proclaimed killing machine, a girl who licks her knife after a kill, can be talking right now. He's stunned at the way I move with delicate fingers, speaking with comfort and hope. He's stunned that for once, I seem gentle. I have to admit, it's news to me, too. Neither of us have ever seen this side of me.

Sadly, I doubt I'll ever see her again.

Using his last bits of energy, Marvel lifts his hand to my face, and I catch it, holding it to my cheek. We sit like this for a while. It's the least I can do.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, though I'm afraid his hearing is fading. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." _I'm sorry you miss Glimmer. I'm sorry those feelings brought you here. I'm sorry Cato's the way he is. I'm sorry I couldn't save you_. I feel pathetic, using an apology as my last words, but there's really nothing more to say. I'm sorry for that, too. "I'm sorry," I repeat, over and over and over.

After a minute, his hand goes slack in mine, accompanied by the sound of a cannon.

Robotically, I pick up my knives, shoving them into my backpack. Strangely, instead of feeling victorious—one step closer to home—I feel numb. Guilty and heavy and fragile and numb. I take off at a dead sprint for the camp, ignoring the piercing call of the Mockingjay announcing the hovercraft.

For some reason, Marvel's death has filled me with fury. The reason for it, the motives behind it…none of them made sense. None of them justified death. He was just a boy, like all the others that had lost have their lives since the Games began. I don't recognize Cato anymore; the boy I knew back home is no longer with me. He's lost himself somewhere along this path to victory, turning into the monster I've always known he could be. The mind I could once relate to has gone dark. The hands I once held are stained with blood. The boy I'd steal kisses from, that I'd stargaze with and train with, has vanished, going too far down a path I refused. I knew, despite the quiet promises and passionate kisses, one day he'd disappear-I just never allowed myself to believe it until now.

He senses a change in me before I seem to know it myself. Cato's desperate for forgiveness, desperate to prove his point, and he's using every trick in the book to earn it back: I'm given extra food at dinner, a back massage at sunset, the warmer sleeping bag. He comes up behind me, greeting me with apologies in my ear and arms around my body. He sharpens my knives for me until I can see my reflection in them. He strokes my hair with a featherlight touch, flooding me with compliments, but none of it makes any difference anymore. I want nothing to do with a monster, which is hypocritical, considering I'm one myself.

Cato's at a loss—usually something he does has an effect on me. After leaning in for a kiss, only to have me jerk my head away, he loses it, knocking over the bench we're sitting on. "I'M TRYING!" He screams. I'm frozen in place with terror, trapped in the angry glare of his eyes. He lunges forward, grabbing my face roughly between his hands. He's probably thinking of crushing it. "WHAT ELSE DO YOU WANT ME TO DO?"

_I don't know_, I want to tell him. But I can't.

In answer, I disappear between the folds of our tent, making sure to zip it closed before the tears start falling.

I don't talk to Cato for the rest of the evening, and when we see Marvel in the sky that night, neither of us says a word.


End file.
